Anger tones filters through the phone: Come on, why are you two playing this game with me?
I didn’t mean to not pick up.
We haven’t spoken in days.
It was just yesterday mom.
I have a plan. You promise you’ll help me? Promise? Promise? I want to write a book! About my life. Yeah we’ll be millionaires then we can do whatever we want and have whatever we want.
Okay, mom. Okay. I’ll help you.
I knew you would say that. Lets leave. Let’s go to the UK.
I have to go to college mom.
But I can’t wait that long. Lets go during your spring break.
You aren’t yourself. I can tell just by those tones you use. I know them so well, I grew up with this. I knew when you’re on your off days with that voice, when you’re delusional and paranoid. You’re so fucked up. Look what they did to you. Them and their medicine.
I hear them dragging you away from the phone, you screaming like some kind of mental patient. Let go of me let go of me.
But you’re not. You’re suppose to be my mother. You’re suppose to be taking care of me! I don’t want your stupid genetics, I don’t want these problems, I just want you to take care of me!
You were never there for me. I have never been comforted by you. I only had myself, and the friends doctors swear aren’t there. When I was young and I’d cry, you’d laugh or ignore me.
The babysitters took care of me better then you.
I love you so much, and you constantly break me apart and hurt me.
People tell me I’ll be strong.
That they’ll take care of me.
That I’ll escape the madness.
Fuck that.
Fuck it.
I’ve yet to meet anyone who can help me. Your words cannot soothe me. Your hugs do little to comfort me. Your promises that I’ll be fine are shit lies.
Most of the time, I struggle to remember everyone’s correct name and face. You can’t tell me that the madness hasn’t caught up to me.
But who can be blamed?
Not my friends. I usually don’t tell them when I’m feeling horrible. I go to school, happy-happy, crack jokes…
Sometimes I think of asking for help. Just to go to a teacher and spit out my problems, or go to a friend.
But then I decide to hear about FAJ instead.
I remember that Snarf can’t help me. I know Dennis and Sango and Jessica would just make it worse. Venny can’t be comforting. Kaggy would shrug. Molly would be dramatic.
It’s just so much easier to appear happy and care free then allow myself to admit how fucking upset I am.
I’ve been thinking about killing myself again. It would just be so much easier. I feel absolutely silly with all this crying I’ve been doing.
Snarf reminded me on how much of a monster I really am. For awhile, I forgot, I forgot that Jayden is right, I forgot how awful I really am. Dennis and Sango were right too. I’m always wrong. I’m always bad. I’m awful.
I’m so fucking awful.
And I can’t even try and kill myself, because then that would let people know how upset I am. It’d draw attention, and I’m very tired of that. I just want to have a mother that it makes me feel so sick inside. I just wanted to be loved.
I know within minutes all these feelings will go away. Because that’s how life is. I can loathe my every existence, and weep silently in pain–but it can’t last.
I have to take care of Molly. I need to be happy for Will. Indifferent and stupid with Kaggy. I need to help cheer up and be supportive of Snarf.
And no matter how bad it ever gets, I know I should be happy and thankful. I have wonderful friends who love me, a mother who is trying and Laura who needs me.
I refuse to wallow.
I will not be pathetic. I refuse to be like all those melodramatic sniveling twits who can’t hold themselves together because of minor bumps in the road.
No.
I’d rather be fucking crazy and out of touch reality then unable to pick myself back up.
I’m happy and I’m fuckin’ alive. I refuse to just ride out my life merely existing. I will overcome. I will be strong.
I am not my mother.
